Undefined
by PrincessVenture
Summary: "There would be hate sex, but neither was going to O-town if the other could help it." / It started as a weird game they played in high school. Now they just can't resist each other's bodies. But that doesn't mean they want to be together. Nope. Of course not. / Auslly in a series of vignettes.


**Summary:** "There would be hate sex, but neither was going to O-town if the other could help it." / It started as a weird game they played in high school. Now they just can't resist each other's bodies. But that doesn't mean they want to be together. Nope. Of course not. / Auslly in a series of vignettes.

**A/N:** I wanted to try my hand again at smut, so here's another story. Inspired by several things, including some personal experiences that I wish had had happier endings, with influences from the _A&A_ show. Maybe a one-shot. Two at most. There will be more plot, so it's not going to be as smutty as "The Birds and the Tease," what with Austin and Ally getting each other off in the middle of a class on How to Write Anatomically Correct A&A Porn. But if you're looking for fluff and grand declarations of love _à la_ "Princess Promposal," you're in the wrong place.

This story is dedicated to the amazingly talented kfizzlewizzle92, who read my summary and an excerpt and convinced me it wasn't a completely terrible idea to write an AU in which Austin and Ally hate each other, despite the serious plethora of such stories on this fandom.

**Warnings:** NSFW. Explicit content. Language.

**Disclaimer:** The usual.

Also, you'll notice that the verb tense changes between sections sometimes. It's okay. That's intentional.

* * *

**Undefined**

* * *

It's a Monday morning, and the birds are singing, and the sunlight's playing peekaboo through the slits in the blinds…and the day starts for Ally Dawson with the unrelenting histrionics of an alarm clock that isn't hers.

A good way to wake up?

Oh, yeah, the best.

She lets out a whimper of complaint when she's abruptly dislodged by the muscular arm she'd been using as a pillow as the blonde man next to her rolls away to the other side of the bed to shut off the heinous device. At once, the warmth against her back is gone. He also takes the bed sheet with him.

The cool air hardens her now bare nipples almost immediately.

The alarm silenced, her bedfellow sits up and raises his arms above his head in a stretch, the sheet pooling in his lap to expose his steel-hard abs.

It also does a poor job of disguising a steel-hard something else.

Catching her gaze, he smirks. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're gonna have to do your little walk of shame now. I have to go to the studio early today."

Walk of shame. Right. It's her turn today.

Too bad she can't find it in her to actually feel ashamed. If the soreness she's starting to register _down there_ is any indication, she'd definitely engaged in their activities the previous night with absolutely no shame.

So it's more like a walk of post-coital euphoria.

But that doesn't mean she's going to do as she's told.

"_Really?"_ Fully aware that she's still completely naked, she scoots a little closer and leans in to whisper, "Too bad, asshole. I was hoping you'd be nice today. You're cute when you're nice."

"Yeah? And what am I when I'm not nice?"

Her breasts brush his arm. He visibly swallows as her breath tickles his ear.

"…_Hot as fuck."_

The next moment, she's letting out a yelp as he growls, "That's it," and hauls her over to straddle his middle. And then he's raking his teeth harshly across one nipple while firmly rolling the other between his fingers, and his other hand is clenched around her waist, and she's rolling her hips and grinding their cores together, and their moans and gasps and curses are filling his bedroom anew.

Too soon, he pulls away. "Look, as much as I'd like to stay here all day, I _really_ need to get going. Jimmy wants me at the studio early to talk about that new song."

She mock-pouts. "And he didn't invite me?"

"Sorry, sweetheart. I don't make the rules. And don't you need to open Sonic Boom soon?"

"All right, be that way." She swings herself across the edge of the bed to start fetching her clothes off the floor. "But we're continuing this after work. My place?"

"Nah." The bed now entirely to himself, he lies back with his hands behind his head. "I'll just take care of myself in the shower."

She sighs in exasperation and ruffles his hair. "Be there, asshole."

He laughs and grabs a towel off his desk chair, slapping her ass on his way to the bathroom before she can slip her skirt on. "No, your toothbrush is not at my place today," he reports. "Now get hustling!"

"What, you're kicking me out now? _Fiiine_." Buttoning her blouse, she grabs her things and heads for the front door. "Later!" she yells.

His reply over the sound of running water is something garbled.

"What?"

"I said, don't miss me too much!"

"In your dreams, Moon!" Then something occurs to her. "Oh—and you never answered my question! My place after work today?"

"Sure I did! I said, 'Nah!'"

"And I said, 'Be there, asshole!'"

"But I can't!"

"Huh?"

"I've got a date."

_Ah, the curses of an ambiguous relationship…_

* * *

They were rivals in high school with an interesting physical relationship.

They were also rivals in college with an interesting relationship.

Now they're neither rivals nor in a relationship.

They're twenty-two years old and living across the hall from each other, although their respective one-bedroom apartments are more like a single two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with a narrow strip of ugly green-carpeted hallway in the middle, through which the other tenants have access. Suffice it to say that every day usually begins with either Austin or Ally going, "Did I leave my toothbrush at your place or mine?"

Of course, an obvious solution to that problem would be for each to permanently leave a toothbrush in the other's bathroom. But that would imply that they're in a relationship. And they're not.

Nor are they rivals anymore. Nowadays, Austin Moon is a Starr Records recording artist and pretty much a household name, having dropped out of college during their junior year to pursue his dreams after catching the eye of Miami's biggest label owner. And Ally got her business degree and writes Austin's songs in her free time while managing the Miami Sonic Boom, handed over to her when her father decided to expand the business and open up a branch on the West Coast.

She misses her dad, but it's probably for the best that he's on the other side of the country now. Far, far away. Where he won't be one unannounced visit away from discovering the mounds of Austin's clothes mingled with hers on the floor of both their bedrooms. It spares her from having to answer awkward questions that she herself doesn't know the answers to.

Namely, "Why didn't you tell me you two were dating?" To which she'd probably be forced to respond with, _We're not._

Most likely followed by "Oh, you're not? Then why are you sleeping together?" _Um…it just happened?_

Followed by "What do you _mean_ it just happened? What exactly are you two?" _…I don't know._

And then, "Why didn't you two ever just _talk_ about it?"

_Because talking about it would mean acknowledging that it's happening and implying that I'm having doubts (which I'm not)…? And then things will be awkward because he'll feel like he's leading me on, and we'll lose whatever this is…? And the idea of losing him when he's not even mine somehow terrifies me? But if I tell him that, he'll get the wrong idea and assume that I'm only doing this because I'm afraid he'll find someone else if I don't sleep with him?_

Yeah, it's such a mess that she's not even sure how to begin tackling the subject, should they ever bring it up.

Austin doesn't comment on it. So neither does she.

So they have crazy, mind-blowing sex at least four nights a week, and even if she tries, she's not sure she'll be able to walk away from…whatever their thing is. Even though (as far as she's aware) it's just for fun—no strings attached.

Because it's actually a lot more complicated than that.

Better to not disturb the status quo by questioning it.

Although, on days like today when he has a date, and she's completing the (albeit very short) walk of actual shame, sometimes she finds herself questioning _why_ she doesn't question it.

* * *

**It started when they were in kindergarten, and the annoying blonde-haired kid wouldn't leave her alone…**

"Hi!" Someone plopped into the seat opposite Ally.

The little brunette frowned. "Trish, I'm trying to color. You're blocking the light again," she responded without looking up.

"Who's Trish? The hall monitor?"

Huh? Whipping her head up, she met the confused brown-eyed gaze of a blonde boy. He must be that new kid who joined their class last week. She remembered seeing him hanging out with the weird redhead who liked to stick Barbie doll shoes up his nose. (When Mrs. Carmichael asked why he did that, Dez said that riding in an ambulance was cool.)

Realizing her mistake, Ally quickly apologized. "Oh no, I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else."

"Oh. Well, my name's Austin. What's yours?"

"Ally."

"That's a pretty name. You're really pretty, too."

No boy had ever called her pretty before. Pretty was what big boys called big girls. Ally was too young to be called pretty. But this Austin kid seemed to be a nice boy. Maybe they could be friends.

So she smiled shyly and said thank you because Mommy told her she should always thank people when they complimented her.

"So, Ally, why are you sitting here all alone?"

"I'm coloring." Ally suddenly frowned again. Her clown was supposed to have orange hair, but she had all her crayons arranged neatly on her table in the order of the rainbow, and she couldn't find her orange crayon anywhere. Then she noticed him playing with something in his hands. "You took my orange crayon!" she accused.

Austin just shrugged and handed it back. "It's my favorite color." He leaned in further, blocking more light. "Why are you coloring in the lines anyway? That's boring. Coloring's boring, too. Come play cars with me!"

"No thank you. I want to finish coloring this clown."

"Okay, I'll wait until you're done."

"You're blocking the light. And I don't want to play cars. I want to color."

"But it's no _fun_ being all _alone_! Can't we do something else once you're done with your clown?"

She thought for a minute. "We can play dress-up." That usually got the boys to go away when she and Trish didn't want to play with them.

But Austin nodded his head eagerly. "Okay! We'll play dress-up!"

Austin was not a very good dress-up partner, as Ally soon found out. He kept insisting on tying the sleeves of the shirts around his neck like a cape, and he kept trying to make her put on the sparkly dress and pretend to be the princess locked in a tower. But the tower was a chair, and Mrs. Carmichael had a rule about not standing on the chairs, and the dress was too itchy and a shade of too-bright pink, and Austin's cape just looked plain silly.

So the next day, she tried getting rid of him by suggesting that they throw a tea party because Austin didn't like "boring stuff," and tea parties were boring…right? Wrong. He gladly put on the plastic tiara she dug out for him and dutifully made conversation with all the stuffed animals and refused to play anything else all day.

On Wednesday, she tried playing house, where she was the mommy, Austin was the daddy, Trish was the daughter, and Dez was the son. But then Trish and Dez tried to get Austin and Ally to kiss, and Austin actually did kiss her—a quick peck on the cheek. Boys had cooties, so Ally wrinkled her nose and said, "Yuck," and Austin's big brown eyes got even bigger, and he looked really hurt. And then Ally got into trouble for making Austin cry and had to give him a hug after saying sorry.

He didn't leave her alone after that, either. So Ally tried bargaining on Thursday. Since he made her play checkers with him yesterday, it was only fair that he let her color today without complaining. But then he actually stuck around, even "helpfully" scribbling all over her picture of a rainbow—with no regard for the lines—and breaking her blue crayon. So she went home that night and asked Mommy for advice.

Mommy said she should just be honest with Austin.

So the next day, Ally marched right up to Austin and told him she didn't want to play with him anymore. He angrily stomped away. After naptime, Ally was looking to apologize for hurting his feelings when she found him in the corner with Tilly Thompson. They were playing cars, and Austin was loudly telling Tilly that she was _much more fun to play with than boring ol' Ally_. And then the week culminated in a screaming match involving more broken crayons, and crushed plastic tea cups, and toy trucks getting thrown at the floor, and a glittery pink dress getting torn in half, and all their classmates cowering behind the teacher's desk, and Austin and Ally both getting Time Out.

* * *

**They didn't get along all that swimmingly freshman year either…**

At some point during elementary school, Austin and his family had moved away. Where they went Ally didn't know, nor did she care. She hadn't spoken to him since the incident in kindergarten, and he never acknowledged her existence, save for a few spitballs that suspiciously landed on her desk…or a few tugs on her ponytail when she wasn't looking…or a few times when he deliberately upstaged her when they were singing in music class. So _good riddance._

But then, one day in ninth grade at Marino High, she was walking into homeroom when, lo and behold, who was sitting at the (formerly) empty desk next to hers but a familiar-looking blonde guy whose brown eyes instantly lit up in surprise and recognition?

He gave her a sunny smile in greeting, and she thought maybe they could bury the nine-year-old hatchet and move past their differences. After all, he'd only hated her in kindergarten because she wanted to color while he wanted to play cars. They'd both grown up. It was a silly grudge, and it honestly hadn't even crossed her mind in the years since he'd left Miami. So she smiled back and sat down in her seat next to him, silently praying that they could stay on good terms for the rest of the year because these homeroom seats were _kind of permanent_.

Trish and Dez were thrilled to have their old playmate back.

…Maybe a little _too_ thrilled. At lunch, they bombarded him with questions about his life in California and what he was doing back in Miami and whether his family was here to stay and whether he'd seen _Zaliens 8: My Brains_ and whether he still wore boxers with trucks on them, and—_how was he still not tired of pancakes?_

The next weekend, Trish canceled on their Girls' Day because she and Dez were taking Austin to the mall theater to see a horror movie the blonde hadn't seen yet.

The weekend after that, Dez couldn't join her for the silent movie viewing at the park because he and Austin were going to the arcade…even though he'd canceled on her hangout plans every day after school that week to hang out with Austin at the arcade.

And when she finally managed to get her two best friends to join her for cloud watching, Austin insisted on inviting himself, too. He also insisted that there was nothing to see but "big white puffy things," and Trish and Dez agreed with him, and all three sided against her and voted to stop looking at "big white puffy things" and go get ice cream. (Seriously? How hard could it be to see the bunny on a bicycle?)

Coincidentally, it was around that time in the school year when there was an assembly, and a motivational speaker gave the freshman class at Marino High School a speech on growing up and becoming one's own person. "You may even have noticed this happening already," he'd said at one point. "As you grow up, you're going to find that the friends you grew up with in elementary and middle school are going to change. And _you're_ going to change. And sometimes, the sad truth is that you and your best friend since kindergarten will end up growing in different directions, and you suddenly might not be as compatible friends anymore…"

So, yeah, the prospect of losing her friends to Austin might have freaked Ally out a little, especially with MyFace posts and photos telling her _how much fun_ they were having without her while she was sitting alone at home.

She wasn't proud to admit it, but she might have then deliberately started to elbow Austin out of her plans with Trish and Dez in order to make herself feel more included. She'd overhear Austin and Dez making plans to go to the beach Saturday afternoon, so she'd invite Trish to the Animal Print Emporium before the boys could find her, and then, with Trish onboard, she'd wait until Austin wasn't around and then tempt Dez to join them on their shopping excursion with a trip to the zoo ("You know, that place with all the _cool, exotic animals_?") immediately afterward. And after Dez canceled on his beach plans, Austin would ask to join them at the zoo, and then Ally would wince and say, "_Oooohhh,_ that's too bad. I only had three tickets, sorry."

It was probably the meanest and most immature thing she had ever done, and she felt terrible afterwards, but she justified her behavior with the fact that Austin never invited _her_ when he made plans with _her_ _friends_.

The rivalry came to a head at the history museum after Austin caught onto Ally's scheme and decided to buy tickets to the museum, too. She was skipping ahead of Trish and Dez, who didn't quite seem to share her enthusiasm for ancient Sumerian architecture, when a familiar voice called out, "Hey guys! Fancy running into you here! What am I doing _here_, you ask? I love history! Mind if I join you? That's great! C'mon, we'd better not miss the exhibit on Spanish olive oil pressing!" And then he'd ignored Ally, chatting with Trish and Dez about Zaliens the whole time until she decided enough was enough and dragged him aside into the souvenir shop.

"What the heck are you doing?" she hissed.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Uh, standing in a gift shop?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Moon."

"Fine, fine! I came to the history museum because my friends were here, and I was sick and tired of being excluded, so I decided to fight fire with fire."

He looked so smug that she almost smacked him over the head with a rolled up replica of the Magna Carta.

"Oh? _You're_ 'fighting fire with fire'?" she spat. "Then explain to me why I never see Trish and Dez outside of school anymore because they always have plans with you! It's always, 'Sorry, I can't hang out because Austin's taking us to the _Claws_ premier,' or 'Sorry, we're going to Austin's to play video games. Maybe some other time,' or 'Sorry, I forgot to study with you because I ran into Austin on the way to your place, and we went to the beach instead.' You know how much _fun_ it is to stand behind a cash register all day when your only friends suddenly stop visiting you and forget you exist? Or how _great_ it is to try to spend quality time with them, only to have them say they'd rather hang out with someone else? Someone they have more in common with because they've grown so far apart form _you_ that you don't have any common interests anymore?"

He opened his mouth, blinked twice, then closed it.

She continued, "I don't know what your problem is or why you feel so compelled to socially isolate me, but it's a free country, and I can't force you to not hate me. But when you try to turn my friends against me—"

"Okay, I'll admit it! I was a weasel, and I'm sorry."

It was her turn to blink in surprise.

"But don't get used to me apologizing, Dawson. This is going to be a one-time thing because we—" he gestured between them "—are going to go back to Trish and Dez, and we're going to get used to hanging out as a group. I'm going to invite you when I invite them somewhere, and you're going to invite me when you want to hang out with them, and neither of us is going to deliberately pick hangout spots that make the other miserable. Deal?"

It was a strange arrangement to adjust to, since it had always been just Ally, Trish, and Dez—the Three Musketeers—all the way through elementary and middle school. But she had to resign herself to the fact that she no longer had a perfect equilateral triangle of a friendship with Dez and Trish. Now that she had to share them with Austin, the friendship was going to have to be a square to accommodate him.

But that would imply that she was required to play nice with Austin. And spend more time with him.

Less than two days after they called their truce, Austin started grating on Ally's nerves again. This time, she was expressing to Trish her delight at the English department's decision to make all the freshmen read _Romeo and Juliet_ because it was _so romantic _when Austin walked into Sonic Boom and said, "You know how that ended, right?"

"What do you mean? It's a timeless tale of how two devoted young lovers took their own lives to be togeth—"

"Let me stop you right there. It's a cautionary tale about stupid teenagers making stupid decisions. _If_ Juliet was even a teenager."

"How _dare_—hey, wait a minute! We had a deal, Moon!"

"We agreed to hang out together. I didn't say anything about having to see eye to eye."

So maybe their friendship square was more like a friendship rhombus. In which Austin and Ally were the corners furthest apart from each other.

Classmates who could still remember the terror of that one Friday afternoon in kindergarten started muttering, "_Cough_ oldmarriedcouple _cough_," whenever they passed the duo squabbling in the hall. She still couldn't fathom how he managed to transform her—_her_, the sweet and mild-mannered Ally Dawson, a rule-abiding model student, the normally even-tempered peacemaker between Trish and Dez—into a disagreeable spitfire, just by being in her presence.

Everything about him irritated her.

He never took anything seriously. ("Moon, quit jaywalking. You're going to get yourself killed!" "Eh, drivers know what they're doing. They'll stop." "But those cars are whizzing by at thirty-five miles an hour!" "Chill out, Dawson, they'll stop." "But—but _physics!"_)

He could be really competitive when he wanted to be. And he really, really wanted to be, if she was involved in any way. Particularly in academic areas. How was Ally going to rank first in their class if, every day, there would be a new disagreement between the two of them, and their teachers would nod in enthusiastic approval at every interesting or unorthodox point Austin brought up? ("What do you _mean_ Gregor didn't literally turn into a bug? It says on the _first page_ that he woke up to find he'd been '_transformed'_ into a '_monstrous vermin,_' with '_many legs._' Even the housekeeper calls him a '_dung beetle!_'" "Oh, poor, unperceptive Dawson. It could all be figurative for all you know. Transformed into a monstrous vermin? Maybe he woke up one day and realized that mankind is horrible. Many legs? That depends on how you define 'many.' It could mean two—humans could have many legs. And everyone knows the housekeeper was battshizz insane anyway.")

He didn't even _try_ in class, yet he was well on his way to getting straight A's because he was _that_ teacher's pet. Not the kind that teachers liked because they were smart and knew the answers, but the kind that deliberately sucked up to the teachers to piss off classmates, who were then powerless against them for fear of getting on the teachers' bad side.

And their disagreements weren't limited to academics, either. He always had _something_ to say to negate her previous statement. She'd comment to Dez and Trish, "It's a really nice day outside."

Then Austin would respond, "Well, that depends on one's definition of 'nice.' _Some_ of us prefer splashes of sunshine to drizzles of darkness."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, asshole."

"Nope, but I gave it for free. You're welcome!"

The worst part was that he participated in their arguments like it was _fun_ to get to her, or to spar with her until she was blue in the face from yelling at him. Like he got some sort of kick from getting a rise out of her.

Once, he stopped her in the hall to return a pack of crayons she'd let him borrow for the morning. Half the tips were worn down to the paper wrappers. The other half of the crayons were broken in half. "I see you haven't changed a bit," she growled.

"I'm flattered that you still remember all the fun you had with me in elementary school." He grinned, pecking her cheek and dodging away before she could retaliate.

Then it became a thing. He'd disagree with anything and everything she said, not caring if he contradicted something he himself said not two minutes ago, and once she got right up in his face and was _this close_ to stabbing his eyes out with the nearest sharp instrument because he was _so goddamn impossible_, he'd peck her cheek—or her neck, or her nose—and then grin as she sputtered like an indignant kitten. He'd do it just because it made her angry, just to set her eyes (metaphorically) ablaze. And then he'd dart out of reach and stroll off to class, sending her a wink or yelling "See you later, sweetheart!" over his shoulder.

"I hate that he gets under my skin so easily!" she'd ranted to Dez over the phone later. "I mean—what did I ever _do_ to him?"

"Oh, poor, unperceptive Ally. _Seriously_? Everybody knows that when a guy teases a girl, it means he likes her!"

"But who in their right mind would think that? How is it okay for society to teach boys for the first…however many years that it's cool to disrespect girls, only to suddenly say it's not okay the second they're old enough to be charged?"

"…Yeah, you and Austin need to get that argument complex under control. Not everything has to be a debate."

* * *

**And then Christmas of junior year (a/k/a the beginning of the end) happened…**

Back when she agreed to Austin's ridiculous not-really-a-truce during freshman year, Ally had half-expected, half-hoped that it would be a temporary arrangement—at least until Austin quit being clingy around Dez and Trish and went and found himself a new crowd to hang out with.

After all, his entire being oozed charisma, and Ally had overheard quite a few girls in the locker room going on about how tall and _oh so attractive_ the new guy was and how "it's too bad he's taken." They went on and on about his hair and his eyes and—_whoa_. Back up! _Taken?_ They thought she and Austin were _dating_ because they were always bickering in the halls, and he was always stealing kisses? _Gross!_

Of course, she wasn't exactly _blind_. She definitely noticed the way his blonde hair was always carefully gelled and disheveled. Or the way his eyes seemed to pierce into the depths of her soul. Or how he'd suddenly shot up at least three inches over the span of one summer, so by sophomore year, he was at the perfect height for her to be able to tuck her head under his chin and fit perfectly…

Gross.

Yeah, that's it. Perfectly gross.

The point was, he was definitely cute…until he opened his mouth. Then she just wanted to slam him against a wall and punch him until her knuckles were raw.

So, yeah, he definitely fit the bill for access to the jocks' and cheerleaders' lunch tables. And as the months wore on, Ally had hoped that he _would_ join a different, more popular social circle and leave her alone once he got used to navigating Marino. It didn't fail to catch her attention how, the second he walked into the cafeteria, the entire cheerleading squad's table would abruptly cut off all conversation and transform into a cacophony of flirty giggles and hair flips, or how the football team tried and failed multiple times to get him to join their table.

But he remained with Ally, Trish, and Dez at their own little table in the corner, seemingly immune to the temptations of teen-idol status and glory. (That, or he was just determined to drag Ally with him wherever he went because his life's mission was to cling to her like a barnacle and drive her insane.) And she'd sorely underestimated his loyalty to Dez and Trish, as demonstrated when he finally agreed to sit with the basketball team for just one lunch period. He insisted on bringing his friends (and Ally) over, too, but when the team protested, he just shrugged and said, "Guess we're staying in our corner then."

She had to give him props for that one. It looked like she'd have to get used to him permanently being around after all.

So she set her pride aside and tried to be civil to the _bane of her existenc_e for the sake of her best friends who, for some unfathomable reason, loved him like a brother. She went to horror movie showings with them and tried to keep her complaining and snoring to a minimum. She let them drag her out to Phil's Fun Town and agreed to carry all their junk when she sat out on practically every ride. She even sacrificed ten years from her natural life span and tried one of the boys' awful window burgers.

And, surprisingly enough, there _was_ a slight change in their dynamic. Austin wasn't exactly nice to her in return, but that didn't mean he was _mean_ to her, though. They managed to find common ground in their love of music, although _that_ was still fodder for silly arguments. ("People who like classical music are lame." "Says the guy who likes to play 'William Tell Overture' on a trumpet through another trumpet." "Touché, milady.") They still bickered, but between the lack of personal space when they argued and Austin's annoying cheek kisses, it _was_ starting to look a lot like flirting.

One day during winter break of junior year, the four were at Sonic Boom, charged by her father with the task of decorating the store for the mall's annual Christmas party.

Trish opened up one of the boxes of decorations from the supply closet and started dusting off the contents. "Whoa, these ornaments are from 1968?"

"What?" Ally whirled around from where she'd been steadying the ladder as Austin hung red and green balloons from the light fixtures. "Yeah, be careful with those. We've had them since Dad was a kid."

"Speaking of your dad, where _is_ he? Shouldn't he be helping us set up since it's, you know, _his_ store that's hosting this year?"

"Oh, he's out trying to persuade the rest of the Mall Association to bring their own paper plates and plastic utensils. And food."

Trish shook her head in exasperation. "Sometimes I just really don't understand your dad, Ally."

"What's wrong with being frugal?"

"What? I'm not talking about his stinginess. I just don't understand why your dad would trust _him_ to decorate the store." She jerked a thumb behind her, where Dez was attempting to unwrap what appeared to be a _very_ questionable-looking candy cane.

From above, Austin whispered, "Should we warn him now, or after he gets diarrhea?"

Ally giggled. "Hey—how many more balloons?"

"I think we're good for now," he replied. "Although…these guys might pop at any second. The rubber was all dry and kinda crumbly when we found them. They had to be at least ten years old."

"Eh, if they pop, that's Dad's problem. Why don't you come on down?"

Once he was safely on the floor, he nudged her playfully. "Thanks for holding the ladder and not killing me."

"Who—me? I would _never!"_

"Really? Then who was the one who wanted to gouge my eyes out with a rusty fork? Or tie me in a burlap sack full of flesh-eating fire ants and ship me off to Abu Dhabi?"

Her jaw dropped. "You touched my book! _How dare_—?"

"Guess what I have!" Out of nowhere, Dez had joined them, beaming from ear to ear. He was holding up a sprig of something green and leafy.

Ally's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Is that…?"

"Go on, you two!" Trish exclaimed gleefully from the counter, unfortunately out of kicking distance. "You know what mistletoe means!"

Ally's eyes widened even further as Austin smirked at her and started leaning in. She shoved him away. "Ew, are you serious? What's wrong with you?"

"Aw, come on, Ally! Don't be such a party pooper," Dez wheedled.

"Give me one good reason I should kiss _him_."

"Because we say so?" her traitor of a best friend offered.

"Actually, peer pressure would be a reason _not_ to kiss him."

"Um…because we all know you want to?"

"Um, _no_. No, I do not."

Austin rolled his eyes. "Because rules are rules, and you're completely anal about not breaking the rules?"

"Hey! I can change my mind, can't I?"

His demeanor suddenly turned uncharacteristically serious. "But what if I _want_ to kiss you?"

There was something unnerving about the way his eyes were piercing hers, and she felt her heart inexplicably skip a beat. He'd been doing that a lot lately. She'd started catching glimpses of that look in his eyes every time he so much as glanced her way, and it always made her insides do all sorts of weird things because _stupid teenage girl hormones_. It was very annoying, really.

So she caved.

"Fine—but I'm rinsing my mouth out pronto, and I am _never_ going to speak to you again."

"Well, until you _change your mind_, I'll be happy to communicate with you through pantomime."

And then he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

If it was supposed to be weird or disgusting kissing a frenemy she'd known since she was five years old, Ally didn't feel it.

What she _did_ feel was her heart giving a giant, probably life-threatening, kick before it started jackhammering against her ribcage at a rate that could only be described as un-_fucking_-believable. He was cradling her face in slightly calloused palms, causing her stomach to flip and flop like some kind of people-pleasing politician as she stood rigid with eyes wide in shock, all thoughts of murdering Trish and Dez with a rusty fork yanked, along with entirely all coherent thought, from her mind. Then he kissed her harder, as if coaxing her to kiss him back, so she snapped out of her daze and threw caution to the wind, fisting her fingers in his surprisingly soft blonde hair and raising herself on her tiptoes for better access.

She was vaguely aware of Trish and Dez and some other people—the Mall Association?—cheering and catcalling over the hissing and popping of fireworks… Oh, wait, no. That was just the expired balloons.

Then she felt Austin's tongue brush her lips, and it was absolutely, _sinfully_ heavenly, and she let him in without hesitation because…well, because YOLO. Her brain's capacity to function was probably beyond all hope of repair at this point anyway.

It was unlike anything she'd ever imagined her first kiss to be, and she suddenly dreaded the moment they would have to break apart and storm off to opposite sides of the store. And judging by the way he was thoroughly ravishing her mouth, he, too, seemed all too aware that this would be their first and only kiss. That this would be his one opportunity, and he really didn't want to fuck it up because you just _don't_ fuck up once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.

So they dragged it out and savored it for as long as they could, taking and taking from the well of lust that bubbled between them…until the sound of her father repeatedly clearing his throat brought them back from beyond infinity.

"See?" Austin smirked down at her. "That wasn't so bad, now was it, sweetheart?" He sent her a two-fingered salute and sauntered away.

And just like that, Asshole Austin was back.

The Monday school resumed in January, she was returning from running an errand for her study hall teacher when she came across the blonde devil by the back lockers. So she moved to the right to avoid walking head-on into him. He moved the same way.

She grimaced from the awkwardness and moved to the left. He moved that way, too.

He grinned, and she realized that he was doing it on purpose.

"Out of my way, Moon," she growled.

"Aw, really, Dawson? You're not going to say hi to me? I thought we were friends!"

"I don't address my friends by their last names. And I don't say hi to people who aren't worth my time. And I definitely don't…_kiss_ my friends."

He stepped closer, and she had to tilt her head back to maintain her glare. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another step forward. Now he was close enough for her to smell his cologne, close enough that she could count all of his ridiculously long eyelashes. "You don't kiss your friends?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?" She suddenly had a really bad feeling about what was coming…

Sure enough, she felt his chest graze the front of her heart-printed blouse and instinctively backed away. Her back hit the cool metal locker door behind her, and his arms instantly caged her in.

Did it get any more clichéd than this?

Probably not, but he was already leaning in. "Then I'm glad we're not friends, sweetheart."

She felt the sparks again when he kissed her, and it suddenly _really_ didn't matter that she was technically cutting class, currently pressed between a locker and a really hot guy whose guts she happened to hate so much that she'd constantly fantasized about shoving him against a wall and biting him, or making him groan as she trailed searing kisses down his neck, leaving as many hickeys as she could because it was the only way to bruise a guy who deflected her witty barbs and meticulously thought-out counterarguments with a wink and his infuriatingly cheeky grin…

And so began a series of heated make-outs during free period for Ally Dawson and Austin Moon. In the back hallway, in a janitor's closet, backstage in the auditorium, in the usually empty and unused classroom that _just so happened_ to be Room 69 (even so, he was a hormonal teenage boy and wouldn't quit snickering about it)… They'd get into a heated argument, and he'd kiss her to shut her up, and she had no objections to being interrupted as long as his tongue was in her mouth. Maybe it had something to do with how the sexual tension from loathing someone really attractive, coupled with the thrill of kissing said really attractive loathsome person, made it all that much hotter? Yeah, something like that.

They never talked about what they were doing, but at some point, they must have mutually decided it was much more productive to skip the pointless arguing because it eventually just turned into both of them showing up at a rendezvous site and getting straight to the lip locking.

She couldn't really think straight enough, when she was drunk off his scent and his taste, to contradict his opinions on Locke versus Hobbes or Machiavelli versus Kant anyway. She saved that for the classroom. She scored higher than he did on the Renaissance quiz anyway.

He was a _hell_ of a good kisser.

* * *

**Senior year was a new milestone for them…**

She went to the homecoming dance with Dallas because he was the first guy to ask her, and he was cute and seemed nice enough. Making out with Austin on a daily basis for nearly an entire year had done wonderful things to her self-confidence, and she'd actually been looking forward to her first school dance, even though her friends weren't going. (Dez and Austin preferred to spend their Saturday nights playing video games with the alpaca in Dez's basement, and Trish was visiting her relatives out of town for the weekend.)

Unfortunately, no one had warned her that her company for the evening was going to be boring and dumb. He'd asked her exactly a week before the dance, so they had to scramble to scrape the money together because it was the last day to buy tickets. And then she'd told him several days in advance that her dress would be red, but he showed up with an absolutely hideous corsage, the color of which fell somewhere between chartreuse and mustard yellow. For dinner, he drove her to—of all places—the McDonald's near the school, and whilst attempting to keep up some semblance of a conversation, Ally discovered that Dallas didn't know the difference between Play-Doh and Plato and couldn't tell a trombone from a triangle. And his preferred dinner table conversation topics basically boiled down to celebrity gossip. Desperately grasping around for something they could talk about without costing her too many brain cells, Ally asked Dallas what he did in his spare time.

"I work at the liberry," he replied. "It's so boring. Books suck, am I right?"

When it was finally time to go to the dance, she practically ran into the school gym to escape the nearly suffocating awkward silence in his car. And then there was a new ordeal: Neither she nor Dallas actually knew how to dance, except for slow dancing (which basically comprised engaging in a three-minute hug with one's dance partner). And that was _all_ Dallas wanted to do, even though all the songs they were playing were fast numbers, and everyone else was either grinding or jumping up and down. So Ally spent a majority of the evening standing awkwardly on the sidelines and occasionally darting into the crowd to avoid her date.

Homecoming sucked.

Dallas was probably mad at her for ditching him as soon as they got to the dance, so it was really awkward having to see him in the halls of Marino High the following week. And Austin, who had seemed kind of distant and distracted during their daily make-out sessions the previous week, had suddenly—inexplicably—stopped showing up at all, even though _he_ had been the one who argued relentlessly with the guidance office until they moved his study hall to fifth period to coincide with Ally's free period. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be avoiding her entirely: _not_ starting arguments with her in the classes they had together, _not_ returning her texts to explain where he was and what the hell was wrong with him, _not_ even looking at her when they were hanging out with Trish and Dez…

It was the first time since he waltzed back into her life back in freshman year that she actually had some peace and quiet from the craziness that was Austin Monica Moon. It was actually kind of bizarre that there was no more bickering, no more having to worry about tearing out her own hair, no more having to carry aspirin with her wherever she went.

She kind of missed it.

The following Saturday night, her father was out of town on a business trip, and Ally had been planning to indulge in her favorite brand of pickles over a handful of romantic comedies when Trish showed up on her doorstep wearing some kind of crazy zebra/cheetah-print dress coupled with lethal-looking high heels and carrying several large shopping bags.

The Latina marched in and, without a word, grabbed Ally by the arm and dragged her upstairs to the bathroom.

"Um…Trish? What are you doing? Why are you dumping stuff on the counter—where did you get all this makeup? Are those…_tweezers_? Agh! Stop it! You get that—that _torture device_ away from me right this instant! _Help!_ No—no, don't take your shoe off and threaten me with it! _Somebody help me!_ My best friend's trying to kill me!"

An hour later, Ally's makeup was done, and Trish had pawed through the closet and tossed her the really short, tight dress and heeled sandals she'd received for her last birthday but had never dared to wear in public. Left with no choice, Ally had put on the dress and allowed Trish to drag her out to her car and restrain her in the passenger seat. (Not that she could feasibly run away in stilettos anyway.)

"Hey, I let you do my makeup. I put on the dress. _Now_ are you going to tell me why I look like a hooker? Where are we going anyway?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Soon enough" turned out to be when Trish parked against the curb in what appeared to be a wealthy residential area. There were dozens of, if not at least a hundred, other vehicles already parked already alongside a long stretch of the road. Ally could hear the steady thrum of a bass track reverberating from one of the houses they were currently approaching, where several drunk-looking teenage guys she recognized from school were hanging out on the front porch. The front door was wide open, and it sounded like there were a whole lot more people inside.

"You interrupted me in the middle of _27 Dresses_ so you could drag me out to be your designated driver at a _high school party_?" she asked incredulously as they climbed (teetered in her heels) up the front steps.

"Not quite. Dez and I noticed that you were kind of mopey all week, so we figured homecoming must have sucked, and we decided to let you have your first high school party experience to make up for it. You're welcome!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ally hauled her back before she could escape into throngs of gyrating teenagers in the living room. "You and _Dez_ did this? You thought I was depressed, so you kidnapped me and thrust me into my _worst nightmare_?"

"Pshh, come on Ally, keep up! Your worst nightmare is performing onstage, remember? Besides, in our defense, it _is_ kind of scary when you and Austin suddenly stop arguing 24/7. You should let loose and have some fun tonight!"

"Now wait just one minute! What does this have to do with—?"

"See ya later, bye!"

Ally groaned as Trish sped away, disappearing into the living room and leaving her to fend for herself.

What was the fun, anyway, in drinking illegally and uninhibitedly embarrassing oneself in front of other drunk teenagers into the wee hours of the morning? Or in getting so drunk out of one's mind that one woke up naked the next morning with a killer hangover, lying in bed with a complete stranger with no recollection of the events of the previous night? Ally didn't even need to be physically present at one to know from Hollywood that such parties just consisted of loads of people grinding to music so loud that only the bass was distinguishable, or couples making out against every surface conceivable, or the backyard hot tub overflowing with horny idiots participating in some kind of orgy, or quickly-emptying coolers of cheap beer where desperately lonely guys looking for a quick lay flocked, or lots of scantily-clad girls (although, in their defense, it _was_ really stuffy from all the sweaty teenage bodies crammed in one place, and at least no one was going to be judging _Ally_ for the shortness of her own dress) prancing around and trying to catch the attention of various members of the Manatees football team…

Half an hour after arriving at her own personal definition of hell, Ally gave up on locating Trish to at least have the car keys handed over. The party was only getting wilder and wilder as more and more people showed up, and she was starting to wonder whether the moisture running down her back was alcohol sloshed from some careless partygoer's beer can or just her own sweat.

At this point, she wouldn't even be surprised if it turned out to be someone else's sweat.

It was going to be a _long_ night.

She was pretending to pay attention to the "Sun-hee dumped me again" sob story of a too-drunk, too-sad Chuck McCoy when two more people walked through the front door. One was a familiar redhead. The other was a demigod.

Wow. She hadn't even had one sip of beer, nor was she drunk off his kisses, but she was suddenly envisioning herself caged against a wall, her wrists trapped on either side of her as he pressed his body against hers so tightly that they were practically fused together through osmosis. And then she'd feel the frantic pressure of his lips against hers, and she'd wrestle a hand free to tangle in his blonde locks and drag his mouth down toward her chest, and he'd happily oblige, and when he straightened up to kiss her again, she'd let her hands wander further south on that heavenly body…

Maybe it was just the alcohol fumes saturating the air. Was it possible to get drunk that way?

Just to be safe, she grabbed a red Solo cup—yeah, they were red, _go figure_—from a stack and dumped a cup of ice water over herself. And then the demigod was plain old Austin again.

Plain old Austin, whom she still kind of wanted to jump on because his hair was perfectly messy as ever, and he was laughing at something Dez was saying, and his dimples were on full-display, and he was wearing _plaid_, and his dark jeans fit him in all the right places, and there was just something so _magnetic_ about a really hot-looking guy with the heart and demeanor of a happy-go-lucky little boy.

He spent most of his time hanging out with Dez and trying to keep a more-than-a-little-tipsy Trish, who'd suddenly reappeared babbling in rapid-fire Spanish, under control. Dez had glanced her way several times since they'd arrived, and she was pretty sure he was trying to convince Austin to come over and say hi because she'd noticed him whispering urgently to the blonde while not-so-discreetly angling his head her way. But Austin's attention remained on his phone screen, even when a flock of cheerleaders fluttered by and fawned all over him.

Chuck was still crying over Ally's shoulder, and she could feel his tears starting to trickle down her back, along with the sloshed beer/sweat/someone else's sweat from earlier, so she was more than a little relieved when she felt her phone vibrate in her purse.

_To: Ally  
From: Austin  
11:13 p.m.  
Get rid of Chuck. Now._

She looked up and was startled to meet his gaze from across the room. How long had he been observing her trying to console Chuck? And why did he look so _angry_? His eyes were blazing, his jaw clenched, and he seemed completely oblivious to the cheerleader who was currently pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Catching her deer-in-the-headlights stare, he raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

And then it washed over her, some kind of white-hot rage coursing through her blood vessels and sending her vision into a red haze. He'd been avoiding her all week, ignoring any and all attempts she made at communicating with him, and now he was mad that she had a guy draped over her shoulders—a guy who was just looking for a friend and who wasn't even interested in her that way, for that matter—while _he_ had a cheerleader hanging on each arm as a third _ran her tongue all over him_?

She honestly didn't know what was getting to her more—the jealousy over how he was just _letting_ that girl kiss him, or the fury at the way he'd been avoiding her only to _dare_ to get mad at her while ignoring his own double standard.

"Look, I'm sorry, Chuck, but I have to go. Good luck with Sun-hee."

Dislodging the poor guy, Ally fled to the thankfully empty bathroom to splash some more cold water over her face. Then she gave her reflection a quick once-over for any signs of damage.

She hadn't been drinking or dancing like a maniac, so she looked normal enough, aside from the angry flush in her cheeks and a little eye makeup running down her face from all the sweat. Oops, there went all of Trish's hard work. _Whatever, might as well wash it all off._ It wasn't like Austin was interested in anything she had to offer anyway.

She found herself staring into the mirror and wondering if she was pretty. _Pretty!_ A year ago, she would have been criticizing girls her age who cared more about what was _on_ their heads than what was _in_ them. She would have prided herself in her independence—in her pristine sixteen-year-and-going-strong record of maintaining her never-been-kissed status and of never letting a guy, _any_ guy, consume her entire existence. Let alone a guy she had hated and still kind of hated.

Another notification from her phone.

_To: Ally  
From: Dez  
11:25 p.m.  
Where are you? We have to leave soon._

Who was "we"? Was she going to have to endure being crammed into Dez's car alongside Austin who would no doubt let her squirm in uncomfortable silence, plus the awkward elephant between them _and_ a too-drunk Trish who had yet to relinquish her car keys?

There was a banging on the bathroom door, and she sighed. It was actually kind of peaceful in here, where the head-explodingly loud music was significantly muted and there weren't any drunk guys whistling and leering at her or, worse, dragging her off to the dance floor without her permission. But it sounded like whoever was banging on the door was going to have an accident if she didn't let them in soon, so she gave her reflection one last glance before turning the doorknob.

"_Finally_," a familiar voice snapped.

She hadn't realized he was standing _right_ in the doorway, so the next thing she knew, she'd run smack into him and bounced off like a ping-pong ball, and he had yanked her arm, causing her to fall back into his chest and clapping his mouth angrily over hers.

It looked like they were back to the old routine. Only this time, it was in front of pretty much the whole school.

Well, with any luck, most of them would be too drunk to notice or remember, and the few sober ones would assume Austin and Ally were too drunk to realize they were making out with their respective arch-nemeses…

He broke away to glare at her. Once she'd snapped out of her daze, she glared right back.

"Really, Dawson? First Dallas and now _Chuck_?"

And then light dawned on her. So _that_ explained why he'd been mad at her all week and why he'd been glaring in her direction not twenty minutes ago! He was _jealous_. _Austin Moon_ was _jealous_. She must be dreaming.

"You know what, Moon? _I hate you_," she spat. "You had _three_ cheerleaders all over you, and you have the _nerve_ to—?"

He kissed her again before she could finish her retort, and she kind of wanted to slap him for dodging her accusation. But then her senses were flooded by his scent and his taste, and it wasn't long before she couldn't remember why they were fighting in the first place.

"Have you been drinking?" he demanded, abruptly pulling away a second time.

"What? Are you saying that I smell like beer? Because I'll have you know that I didn't come to this party willingly, and—"

"Answer the fucking question, Dawson!"

"N-no."

"Good." He rolled his eyes and exhaled in irritation, and then his lips were on hers again.

She'd forgotten how much she'd enjoyed this. He was holding her so tightly that it hurt, crushing her against his chest and pulling her up on her tiptoes, and a certain part of him was _definitely_ getting excited because she could feel it against her stomach, and the first icicle of nervousness was starting to run up her spine—but in a good way. In a way that stirred up all sorts of desires she'd been experiencing whenever she thought about him lately. In a way that had made her feel insanely, irrationally guilty the second she accepted Dallas's invite to homecoming…

…And then Austin broke their kiss a third time, and she kind of wanted to slap him again because _why couldn't he just shut up and keep kissing her, dammit?_ But then his fingers were digging into her back through the material of her dress, and he was hissing in her ear, "Do you know how _hot_ you look in that dress, Dawson? Do you know how hard it was for me to stay away from you all week, knowing you're with Dallas now and I can't have you—only to see you looking like _this_ tonight?"

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he cursed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, leaving Ally to blink and stumble a little at the loss of contact.

"That was Dez," he reported, re-pocketing his phone. "He says he has a curfew, so he's leaving now and driving Trish home. He's giving me her keys to drive you home."

"Oh."

"Come on." His arm draped around her shoulders, he steered her toward the front door, where Dez and Trish were waiting.

"Oh, there you are. Here're the keys, I gotta go, come on Trish, you two kids play nice and try not to rip each other's heads off, seeyaaaaaa…"

And then their friends were gone, and it was just the two of them standing on the porch of a house where Ally's very first high school party and its crazy-drunk attendees suddenly seemed very, very far away.

Austin jingled the keys Dez had tossed him. "So…are we gonna keep standing here, or should we get you home?"

What—? Was he not even a _little_ disappointed that Dez's text had interrupted when he was in the middle of telling her _he wanted her_? Was he actually just going to pretend the events of the last however many minutes hadn't transpired?

Not if Ally Dawson had anything to say about it. "Yeah, you're right, I should get home. Gee, it's too bad that I really wanted to continue where we left off. But now I guess I'll just go back to my house…which I have to myself all weekend…and call it a day, and we'll never know what could have been…oh well…"

She was two steps down the front walk when he pulled her back. Seconds later, they were running for Trish's car, and then they'd situated themselves in their seats, and he was leaning across the gearshift and kissing her roughly, the skirt of her dress starting to bunch around her hips as his large, calloused hand rubbed circles into her thigh, focusing all the years of tension and frustration between them into something molten. When his fingers drifted dangerously close to where she needed him most, she reciprocated by letting her hands wander from his very impressive six-pack down south to the bulge she'd seen and felt against her stomach earlier.

He froze, staring at her with wide eyes. And then the surprise gave way to desperation, and she took that as her cue to carry on.

She'd never done anything like this before, but the groan that ripped from his throat, when she lightly ran her fingers over him and dug the heel of her hand into the warmest spot through his jeans, signaled that she must be doing _something_ right. And she would be lying if she said the way he'd gotten to moaning and rolling his hips against her hand in a matter of minutes wasn't a huge turn-on. After all, it wasn't every day that she had him completely at her mercy and incapable of coherent speech.

He suddenly pushed her hand away and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "If we don't stop now, I _won't_ be able to stop," he warned. "And things are going to be different. There's no turning back if we go through with this."

And then she came back to her senses. She wasn't sure where exactly they were going to end up if they followed through with whatever they were doing, but she had a pretty good feeling it was going to involve him and her—naked! in bed! _together!_—if they didn't put on the brakes soon. And Ally Dawson didn't sleep or fool around with random guys on a whim.

But she also had a pretty good feeling that she and Austin were headed someplace new and exciting, and while she still wasn't sure what exactly they were to each other at this point, she _really_ wanted to see where that someplace was. Maybe it was the fact that she was doing this with _Austin_—whatever that meant she still didn't know, but she made a mental note to figure that out some time in the near future—or maybe it was the fact that they were doing _this_ in the front seat of her childhood best friend's car…

"Will it end things between us if I stop us?" She kissed him, dragging her teeth along his lower lip, to clarify what she meant by "things." (Namely him, her, study hall, janitor's closet or behind the locker area or Room 69 or wherever the fuck else.)

"Only if you want to end things. I'm game for whatever you want."

"…Let's do it."

She _needed_ to know, more than she could recall ever needing anything else in her life. She blamed the years of sexual frustration he'd caused her.

He took a shaky breath, and then he started the car, and they peeled out of their parking space, away from the party, only making a quick but necessary stop at the first convenience store they saw before they were truly on their way.

The house was dark and silent when they arrived, parking in the driveway and making a dash for the front door, where she struggled to find the right key and nearly dropped the whole bunch three times because she was too distracted by his lips on her neck and the way his hands were running up and down her bare arms.

Somehow they got the door open, and then they were in her front hall, and he was groping her ass, lifting her clear off the floor for better access to her cleavage, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and summoned the rest of her willpower to pull him away from her chest. "Upstairs. First room on the left."

He didn't need to be asked twice.

In a matter of seconds, they were in her room, and he had her pinned up against the now-closed door, mouth hot on hers in yet another breath-stealing kiss as his hips rolled against hers in relentless circles while she gasped and writhed and tried to pull him even closer, simultaneously trying to keep enough distance between them for her hands to scrabble at his shirt buttons.

They separated for air, and she gave him an unceremonious shove backwards, toward her bed. The mattress squeaked as he sat down, and then he reached up with fumbling fingers to help her finish the job. His shirt discarded, he helped her out of her dress, their progress briefly hampered when the zipper got caught.

"_Fuck it_," he growled, fisting the bodice and yanking. Ally gasped when she heard the seams tearing, but then she was free, and the ruined dress was on the floor, and she was straddling his lap—_way_ too far gone to feel an iota of self-consciousness about her mismatched underthings—and mapping the planes of his chest and abs with greedy palms while he grappled with her bra, and she silently thanked her lucky stars that she'd chosen to wear the front-closing one.

She moaned when she felt him circle his tongue around a nipple, eliciting a new rush of wetness between her legs. The lower half of his body was still fully clothed, so she went for the fastenings of his pants. She managed to get the zipper of his fly down before he panted, "Get off my lap _right now_."

It more a desperate plea than an authoritative order, yet she obeyed without hesitation. On slightly wobbly legs, she watched as he dove for the little box they'd purchased from the convenience store and pulled out the crinkling packet he was after. She came back to her senses when he kicked off his shoes and tore off his jeans and boxers. She kicked off her heels and tugged off her own underwear, not missing his hiss of "Holy _fuck!"_ when he looked up and saw her completely naked for the first time.

His hands seemed a little unsteady as he guided the condom to the tip of his erection and proceeded to carefully roll it down, and she had to clench her thighs together to seek friction in any way she possibly could.

She moved back across his lap the second he had the darned thing on. He groaned against her throat, his hands steadying her hips as she lowered herself on him. They were both thrilling with anticipation now, but her impatience brought her down on him with a sharp, wet _thwap!_

Both cried out at its suddenness, and, noticing her wince, Austin immediately tightened his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Ally," he whispered frantically. "I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! Do you want to stop? Because we can do this some other time if you—"

"It—it just pinches a little," she admitted in a small voice, shifting in his lap to get more comfortable. "Just…just give me a minute."

His expression looked like he was being tortured, but he nodded and buried his face in her neck, rubbing her back soothingly.

A few moments passed, and then she placed her hands on his shoulders and tentatively rose a few inches on unsteady knees. His hands instantly flew to her hips to guide her movements, easing her up and back down. She moved again, and he groaned loudly.

Without warning, he fell back on the bed, taking her with him, and, still seated inside her, flipped them over. Then he hovered over her, staring with an unreadable expression in his dark, dark eyes. "Ally," he began, biting his lip apprehensively, "I'm not very experienced, and I want this to—"

"Are you planning to stare at me like that all night?" she demanded, propping herself up on her elbows. "Or are you going to fuck me properly?"

He blinked. Then a different, even more indecipherable expression took over his face, and he abruptly pulled out, hands gripping her thighs and throwing both her legs over his shoulders. And then he thrust back in, all of him at once, repeatedly, unrelentingly, drawing a shriek from her and only increasing in speed when her nails raked down his biceps.

She could tell he wanted to kiss her, from the way he was straining against her thighs, which were still situated between them, so she wrapped them around his waist and dug in her heels. And suddenly his bare chest was flush against hers, pressing her into the mattress and completely enveloping her with his larger body.

Judging from the way his thrusts had gone from rushed and uneven to slow and deliberate, the change in position had definitely created a sense of intimacy that wasn't there before. He was kissing her slowly, cautiously, and she realized it was the first time she'd felt his lips against hers as more than a frantic pressure.

That was all very well, but Ally wasn't in the mood for intimacy; she was in the mood to be fucked. And in their currently position, he was hitting a spot inside her that wasn't really doing anything for her. So she braced her heels against the mattress and tried to flip them over. He obliged, and then she was on top, rocking her hips, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone, eagerly drinking in the string of curses that left his mouth in response as evidence that he was enjoying himself, too.

Yes, this was _much_ better.

When her orgasm finally crashed over her, she didn't feel the "waves of pleasure" or emit the death-throes-like screams that she so often overheard the other girls at school raving about. There was, however, a flash of heat and what could only be described as _electricity_ so intense and searing that, for a split second, she didn't know where her body ended and his began. She was dimly aware of Austin groaning, "Fucking _finally_," and then she felt the bruising force of his fingers gripping her hips as he "fucking finally" succumbed to his sweet release.

They lay there for a couple minutes, Ally sprawled across his chest as he ran his fingers absently through her damp hair before taking off the condom, tying a knot in it, and tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Then he said, "Well, Dawson? You asked me to fuck you, and I did. How did I do?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, could've been better, could've been worse. Although, next time, you should let me take charge or at least let me direct you, instead of plowing into me like a maniac."

He shifted a little so he could see her face. "Are you implying that there's going to be a next time?" he teased. "That's good. Because I'm too selfish to share you with anyone else, Dawson."

Then she rolled her eyes and punched his chest. "Shut up," she grumbled as he laughed.

A beat. Then he looked at her slyly. "So…do you still hate me?"

She grinned, knowing that he knew that she knew that he was baiting her, challenging her to admit it.

So instead, giggling, she kissed him and replied, "A little bit, yeah."

"Yeah? How little?"

"_Tiny_."

"Well, then I guess I'll just have to fix that."

The next thing Ally knew, he'd flipped her onto her back and situated himself between her legs. "Well?" he asked innocently. "Aren't you going to tell me what to do now?"

Exhaling in irritation, she reached a hand down to demonstrate what she wanted, but he caught both her wrists and trapped them in one of his hands.

"Use your words, Dawson. What do you want?"

"Fingers. In me. Now," she panted, struggling against his hold.

His grip only tightened around her wrists, but she felt his other hand move between her legs, slipping first one, then another finger into her. He moved in and out, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly against her walls, and gave her a questioning look. She nodded in confirmation. Maybe she _liked_ being restrained while he pleasured her. Did he ever think of _that_?

"Now curl your fingers upwards and press harder."

He obliged, and she whimpered at the sensations he was eliciting in her. Within minutes she could feel herself getting close again, and she could see that his erection had reappeared, growing in size with each of her moans. She felt his fingers pull out, heard the springs in her mattress squeaking as he unexpectedly moved away, and she practically whined in protest, but then his fingers were back where she needed them, and then—_holy fuck_—his tongue was doing unspeakable things to her clit, and it wasn't long before she was teetering on the brink of another orgasm.

And, suddenly, his fingers were pulling out again, and his heavenly mouth was gone, and she cried out almost in panic, feeling the weight on the mattress shift again as he rolled off the bed entirely this time. Hands free now, she reached down and furiously circled her fingers around her clit, desperately attempting to bring herself back to the level of arousal where he'd abruptly cut off. But it was too late.

He was over by the nightstand, rolling on another condom. "Do you hate me now?"

"Yes!" she spat, throwing her head back in frustration and _just barely_ resisting the temptation to kick him in the family jewels as he rejoined her on the bed.

He just smirked, restraining her arms again.

"Good."

And then he lined himself up at her entrance, and they went for round two.

Afterwards, as she lay beside him and listened to his deep, even breathing, it hit her that she'd just lost her virginity—that she'd had sex _twice_ with _Austin Moon_. And that she was currently cuddling—_naked_—with him in her childhood bedroom. And that she was _okay_ with that.

It came as naturally as breathing or, in their case, flirt-fighting, and sometimes it still floored her just how comfortable she always was around him.

So as senior year dragged on, they carried on with their clandestine meetings in Room 69 during study hall, only now (after she booked an appointment and got herself on the Pill) there would also be hate sex, and neither was going to make it to O-town if the other could help it. At first, Ally was feeling generous, and she'd give him permission to release. But he almost _never_ let her climax, the exception being only when she insulted his skills and successfully managed to fool him into believing she was "nowhere near close." Otherwise, it was all a teasing game for him. He probably did it to keep her coming back for more, so she gave as good as she was getting.

(Or maybe she just liked that she could reduce him to a gasping, writhing mess even though _she_ was the one kneeling on the floor and looking up at _him_. That she was the dominant one even from what most people would consider the more submissive position.)

And maybe they didn't hate each other anymore. Maybe they were caught in some wonderful place between being frenemies and being something _more_, where everything and nothing made sense. She was pretty much positive she wasn't in love with him, and she knew he pretty much loathed her, but their daily get-togethers had quickly become the highlight of her school day and were no doubt creeping their way toward the top of her "Things Ally Dawson Needs to Stay Alive" list.

And really, her only regret was that they hadn't started doing this sooner. Graduation was right around the corner, and then she'd most likely never see him again…

* * *

**And then there were the golden days…**

Basically, they made out. A lot. And fucked. A lot. And they bickered a lot less because any disagreements just sort of resolved themselves in the form of more making out and more fucking. They got voted "Couple Most Likely to Stay Together" in the yearbook, but Austin made it clear that their relationship was still in nebulous territory, one day the summer after graduation when they were flipping through the book out of boredom and nostalgia. "It's cute that they think we're a couple," he'd snickered.

And then she tackled him, and he didn't let her out of bed for the rest the day.

They wound up going to the same college in the fall. She wasn't sure how it happened because he'd never talked about his plans, but she didn't question it. One of the main unspoken commandments of her and Austin's…_thing_, she'd learned, was that they live every moment in the moment. No worrying about the future and how it might or might not separate them. No hanging onto grudges or digging up dirt from the past. Just a boy and a girl without a worry in the world, savoring every moment they had together as if it could be their last. They weren't _together_ together, but Ally trusted fate to sort things out.

So they set off for college and acted as if it were the most normal thing in the world to run into each other on the first day of Orientation.

And fate didn't let Ally down.

One day, they were cuddling together in his dorm room and watching their favorite episodes from Season 7 of _Crime and Judgment_ when Austin suddenly turned to her and said, "You know, I really want to take you on a date tonight."

It honestly came out of nowhere. But she laid her head against his shoulder, taking his hand in hers and replying equally nonchalantly, "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

And then they were dating.

* * *

**She didn't know what she had…**

"Are you okay?"

It was probably well past midnight, but they were college freshmen, so midnight was basically the new 8 p.m., and they were star gazing because it was their three-month anniversary and she wanted to do something cheesy to celebrate and he refused to go cloud watching. And really, being in Miami, they should have expected the light pollution to make the stars virtually invisible, so the star gazing was really just an excuse to have some couple time without the constant scrutiny of his roommate, or her roommate, or their floormates, or whoever else happened to be in their very crowded dorm.

At any rate, there they were, cuddling on a picnic blanket that Austin had spread out on the grassy quad. He'd been kind of quiet all night, though he was paying enough attention to respond appropriately to the few comments she'd made to fill the silence. Normally, they'd banter back and forth, and he'd tease her about her pickle obsession ("It's because of the shape, isn't it? Ally, you dirty girl! You like them because they're shaped like a—" "_Austin!"_), and she'd tease him about his exam scores ("I beat you on the calculus midterm again! Looks like we're going to have to have some _extra_ tutoring sessions…"). And they'd stay up so late talking—not arguing (they'd basically grown out of that)—about everything and nothing, even though she _really_ needed to go to bed because of her 8 a.m. classes, that they wound up falling asleep together in his bed anyway. And honestly, the past three months together were probably the happiest three months of her life.

So it kind of worried her that he was being so weirdly quiet on the night of their three-monthaversary.

He looked a little startled by her question, blinking down at her in confusion before smiling and tightening the arm that was around her. Then he kissed her forehead and laced their fingers together, and what she felt washing over her had to be _the_ sweetest, most affectionate warmth to ever embrace a human being, _ever_.

"Yeah, I'm great, actually. I'm just so, so _happy,_ Ally."

They broke up exactly a week later.

"I have something I need to tell you," they said simultaneously when she knocked on his door.

"You go first." In unison again.

"No, _you_ go first." Again, in unison. It was uncanny how in-sync they were, and her crushing anxiety only worsened as she thought of what she was preparing to say…

Finally, she went first.

"I think being a couple is getting in the way of us being…us. I think we should go back to being friends."

His eyebrows shot up. "Ally, what is this about? Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head vigorously. "I just…I liked us better when we were friends. I miss the way we used to be, when we could argue about anything and weren't scared to disagree with each other… I feel like, ever since we started dating, you've been…I don't know…holding back? It's like you're scared of hurting my feelings, so I can't tell if you're agreeing with me because we actually think the same or because you feel like you're obligated to."

"So…you're saying you want to break up because we don't fight anymore? I thought you hated it when I argued with you in high school! I can't even count on two hands the number of times you've told me you hated me whenever we were fighting in middle of the hallway—"

"There's also the sex," she blurted.

"…What?"

"Austin, you have to admit that our sex life isn't what it was before we got together. Now you're always holding back, like you're scared I'm going to break in half or something. I want to be _fucked_, but you hold back, and it's just—it's just not what it used to be. It's—it's almost boring."

She winced. Maybe she could have worded that a little more nicely…

He didn't reply, and she noticed his eyes were trained to the carpet.

"Look, Austin." She took his limp hands in hers. He didn't look up. "Austin, I care about you. I really do. But I want _passion_ and insanely hot, _mind-blowing_ sex. Not for you to treat me like a Victorian lady. And, to be completely honest, I think getting together in the first place was just a terrible idea. We're just so…awkwardly conciliatory with each other, and we might have made the mistake of getting together only because we're freshmen in college, and we were the only people who knew each other in a sea of strangers and strange new settings to adjust to…"

"You really think we should go back to…before?"

She fought back the urge to take it all back and hold him tight and _never, ever, ever_ let go. "Yes, I think that would be best."

He sighed. "If it makes you happy, then…okay."

He didn't sound okay. His voice sounded choked with held-back tears.

"I'm sorry, Austin." She kissed his cheek gently and then forced her numb body to release his hands and walk away.

At the end of the hall, she risked a glance back. He hadn't moved from the doorway, but his eyes were staring right back at her.

He looked devastated.

_It was for the best_, she insisted to her heart.

She just hoped she wouldn't miss him _too_ much.

* * *

…**until it was gone…**

It took her two minutes upon returning to her own room to realize what an idiot she'd been.

It took her another forty-eight hours to work up enough courage to knock on his door again.

She took a deep breath as she heard him clamber off his bed and cross the room. _I'm so sorry_, she'd say. _I made a huge mistake, and I want—need—us to give it another try. None of the reasons I gave for breaking up with you were good enough to warrant ending our relationship… We can work this out… You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I was too much of an idiot to not see how lucky I was. And I _need_ another chance because I need you too much to let you go—_

"What do you want, Dawson?"

Ouch.

She stared up at him, stunned at the sharp, angry edge in his voice. "Can we talk?" she managed to get out, her carefully-planned speech having conveniently chosen that exact point in time to skedaddle. "In private?"

He rolled his eyes but stepped aside to let her into his room. "Well, spit it out. What are you doing here?"

"Austin—"

"Don't call me that."

Then she saw it: the _slightest_ hint, but a hint nonetheless, of his eyes softening at her involuntary gasp of pain.

Acting purely out of instinct and desperation, she threw her arms around his neck and crashed her lips against his. This angry, bitter dumpee was virtually unrecognizable to her. She _needed_ to know that the perpetually flirty, easygoing, pancake-obsessed boy she loved was still in there somewhere. She _needed_ to reignite that spark.

He kissed her back just as forcefully, his arms so tight around her that she could barely breathe.

Not that she needed to breathe. Everyone knew that "Austin Moon," "water," and "pickles" were the only items, in that specific order, on the "Things Ally Dawson Needs to Stay Alive" list anyway.

She wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow their clothes found their way to the floor, and then he was on top, driving her back into his mattress with the force of his thrusts as she writhed under him and tangled her fingers in his hair and tried to pull him in for another kiss.

He turned his face at the last second, and her lips wound up hitting his cheek. And then he was pulling out and flipping her over so that she was facedown.

"You said the sex was boring," he snarled. "Tonight, I'm going to show you just how _boring_ I can be!"

With that, he grasped her thighs, wrapped her legs around his waist, and slammed into her from behind.

It was nothing like all those times when they were dating. She'd known it back then that he was holding back, when their first time as an official couple, he'd clenched his jaw and unleashed groans and moans of her name loud enough to wake the entire dorm but somehow held it together, managing to hold off his own orgasm until he'd made her come after a lovemaking session during which she could have paced her alarm clock to the steady tempo of his grind. Somehow, she'd even known that he was holding back all those times back in high school, even when they were both inexperienced and still learning the idiosyncrasies of each other's bodies. But she'd never had any idea what he was truly capable of until now.

This was forceful, rough. Vulgar, even. His balls were slapping against her skin with each thrust, and she let out a strangled cry of pleasure at the sound and feel of them.

He continued slamming into her, one hand snaking around her waist to find her clit, the havoc he wreaked on it only compounded by the force of each movement. "I want to see you tearing at my sheets and moaning for me," he hissed.

So she did, digging her fingers into the mattress and letting out a series of gasps and moans that gradually turned to incoherent cries as she grew closer and closer to her climax.

"Are you about to cum?" he demanded.

She buried her face in his pillow to stifle a shriek. "Yes," she panted.

Suddenly, he withdrew, ignoring her screech of agony, hauling her to her knees. "Now put your pretty mouth on me and suck," he ordered.

She wasn't sure why she obeyed. All she knew was that their sex life was _finally_ the kind of rough, dirty fucking she'd been craving, and there was no way she was going to pass up this opportunity. So she took him into her mouth and began swirling her tongue around the tip before letting him take charge. He ran his fingers through her hair and locked her head in place as he started moving his hips, fucking her mouth and allowing her to taste the combination of her juices and the precum that was dripping generously from his slit.

When he threw his head back, and she felt him starting to twitch in her mouth, she knew he was close and braced herself for the stream, but he surprised her again by pulling out. And then she was being pushed facedown again, and he was gripping her ass with an almost bruising force, and he was inside her again, and his thrusts were growing increasingly uneven and desperate.

She didn't know who peaked first or if they came together, but she was definitely aware that she was significantly warmer and wetter _in_ _there_ as she screamed into his pillow and felt the powerful ripples passing through her entire body.

Then he withdrew and collapsed beside her, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her towards him. "Holy shit," he groaned. "I think I just died."

Still panting, she leaned over to kiss him. "Does this mean I'm forgiven now?"

_Crap_. It occurred to her how just how bad those words sounded right after they left her mouth.

He turned to stare at her. "Wait. So you did all this just so I'd forgive you?"

"Austin, that's not what I…"

She trailed off uncertainly as he got up and started haphazardly throwing his clothes back on before heading for the door. For a minute, she was terrified that he'd kick her out of his room. But then…

"Wow," he stated flatly. "I have _never_ felt so used in my entire life."

He remained standing in the doorway for a moment longer, and if he noticed that she was crying silently, he gave no indication.

Then he walked out and slammed the door.

The next evening, she opened her door to find him standing in the hall with a large jar of her favorite pickle recipe in his hands and a half-apologetic, half-apprehensive expression on his face. But her heart ached, and she hadn't eaten all day, so he only got as far as "Look, I'm really sorry I overreacted the way I did last night…" before her mouth was on his, and their clothes were flying off again.

And then they were back to the old bicker-then-fuck-then-make-up routine the next day, and he never mentioned the incident or their relationship again. The only noticeable difference was that they were no longer on a first-name basis. She wasn't sure why _he_ did it, but _she'd_ reverted to calling him "Moon" because "Austin" suddenly sounded too personal—personal enough to send him running—and she was terrified of throwing off the fragile equilibrium they'd managed to reestablish.

She tried to tell herself that was what she'd wanted when she dumped him.

But would it really kill him to call her "Ally" instead of "Dawson" or "sweetheart" every once in a while?

* * *

**It was over, but her heart was a stubborn little creature…**

Sophomore year, they moved out of the dorms and into their own apartments because it was cheaper. And because dorm walls were too thin for their nightly activities. Yeah, and it was out of pure coincidence that they wound up choosing apartments right across the hall from each other. Of course. It totally had nothing to do with wanting to be as close to him as possible.

One night in junior year, they were at a little coffee shop down the street from the apartment complex, and on a whim, he decided to perform for the open mic, choosing to sing an old song from their high school days that they'd written together out of sheer boredom one day. By then, they'd been writing random songs together on a regular basis, and he'd gained a decently-sized following on MyTewb, but he'd never performed in front of a live audience before.

They didn't know until after the performance was over, but apparently _the_ Jimmy Starr had been in the audience that night, and all of a sudden, Austin was being offered a record deal.

So he accepted and, after a long battle over the phone with his parents, dropped out of college to become a full-time recording artist.

When he signed the contract, Ally had a moment of irrational fear that he'd become some big, international superstar, the kind that tangled with all sorts of the wrong people and had a different girl on his arm every week, and forget all about her.

But her fears might have been just that—irrational—for the first song he wrote on his own sounded suspiciously like it was about her. "_There's no way I can make it without you/do it without you/be here without you_…"

(She didn't ask him about it, though. It might create an awkward situation.)

And now, two years later, he'd released two full albums and numerous hit singles, and he'd even appeared on the cover of _Cheetah Beat_, and his concerts were always packed full of screaming fangirls who sometimes even threw their bras onstage, and he'd even gone on two three-month North American tours.

(Ally decided not to ask, either, if he'd purposely scheduled his tours to be during the summer months so that she could travel with him.)

At any rate, fame hadn't changed him much. And she loved that he did what he did solely for the music and not for the glitz, because at the end of the day, he always came home to her. And sometimes, she could almost believe that it wasn't hate sex.

Of course, she knew that what they were doing was strictly physical, no strings attached. At least, none that they ever brought up. He was good in bed, and he seemed to think she was good, too, because he kept coming back. Whenever he was asked about his love life (or lack thereof) by interviewers, he just shrugged and said that he was waiting for the perfect girl. So she figured she could keep him a little longer, at least until he found someone he wanted to fuck _and_ love.

One time, after a particularly upsetting run-in with some of his groupies, Ally had decided to try a new look. Austin was working late at the studio, so she spent two hours perfecting her makeup and putting together an outfit inspired by "Wicked Kitty" from _The Stray Kitties_, complete with the fuzzy ears and ripped leggings. But when Austin arrived, he merely said, "Your lips are all…dark." And his frown told her he clearly didn't like it, which was strange because one thing she loved—ahem, _didn't hate_—about him was that, no matter how many times they did this, the look of lust on his face whenever he saw her never changed.

And when she shoved him onto his bed and reached for him, he just pushed her away.

She couldn't help it. He didn't want her. She just wasn't pretty enough. Her lower lip started trembling, and she averted her face so he wouldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

But then he gently took the cat-ears headband out of her hair and set it aside. "It's not you," he said simply.

She once made the mistake of asking him what they were. He didn't reply, so she tried to sneak away in mortification, but he pulled her back. They never talked about that incident either.

And she always complained that he kept the temperature in his bedroom too low, but she suspected that he did it as an excuse to cuddle her after sex.

And sometimes, when he thought she'd fallen asleep, he'd hold her tighter and kiss her forehead and bury his face in her hair…

* * *

"…**and that's why I'm feeling really bummed out that he has a date tonight.**"

Ally stirs her long-melted Froyo listlessly. "And I have no idea why it bothers so much," she continues. "I mean, what we have is strictly physical. But the weirdest part is…I don't know…it doesn't make me feel like shit afterwards, you know? It's only when I might have competition or something."

Across their little table at Mini's, her best friend's unconvinced expression seems to be glued permanently to her face. "Um, _duh_. You like him. Love him, maybe even. Maybe you don't feel like shit afterwards because he seems to have it bad, too."

"_Whaaaaaat_? Oh, Trish, you know romance isn't my thing."

"You _say_ that, but how many people has either of you dated since you broke up? Heck, how many guys have _you_ dated since _you_ dumped _him_?"

A mumble.

"What was that?"

"None."

"Right. And was that because you weren't interested in dating at all, or was it because you didn't want anyone _but_ _him_?"

When Ally doesn't reply, electing instead to stare at the frozen yogurt dribbling down the side of the carton, Trish nods in satisfaction.

"Good. I'm glad we cleared that up."

"But what if he doesn't feel that way about me? What if he was hurt so badly that he'll never believe in love again? Maybe _that's_ why he's never dated since, even though he has millions of fangirls throwing themselves at him! Or what if whatever we're doing is just a dead end because he's afraid to let me get closer to him again, so it'll only ever be _just sex_? It'll be like being allowed to have as much of my favorite food as I want…only it all goes down my windpipe instead of my esophagus. What should I do?"

"Um…tell him how you feel?"

"Trish, were you paying attention? If I tell him, he won't feel the same way, and then this _thing_ we're doing will be ruined because he'll feel like he's leading me on, and then we'll have to stop—"

"Yeah, well, you only have two options here: Either keep saying nothing and having meaningless sex with someone you want more from, or rip the Band-Aid off quickly and just deal with the lack of sex because this really isn't healthy for you. Friends-with-benefits stuff only works when neither person has feelings for the other. You need to do both of you a favor and move on to someone who doesn't just want you for your body."

"That's the thing, Trish. He _doesn't_ treat me the way he did back when we were dating, but it's not like he's just using me for sex either. It's like he still _cares_. He's just so _sweet_."

"Let me get this straight. You've just ranted to me about how Austin annoyed the hell out of you when we were kids, and how you almost had sex with him _in the front seat of my car_, and how he frustrates and confuses you with hate sex and mixed signals, and how you literally only ever call him 'Moon' or 'asshole'…and now you're telling me he's a sweetheart?"

"No, that's his nickname for me—I mean—yes. Yes, he's really sweet." Ally grimaces at the unfortunate word choice but barrels on. "It's just, when I say I'm too tired for sex, he'll cuddle me instead of getting mad. Or he'll give me shoulder rubs when I'm stressed out, or randomly hug me just because, or… It's almost like he might like me back…but nothing ever happens. It drives me insane waiting for him to make a move, but I'm too chicken to bring it up myself."

"And you say he _doesn't_ like you?" Trish shakes her head, rubbing her temples. "Ally. Maybe he's waiting for _you_ to make a move. At the very least, have you ever given him a reason to _believe_ he has a chance?"

"Seriously? I sleep with him practically every other day."

"Um, no. Fucking him doesn't count. You've been doing that since before you got together and then broke up. Besides, maybe he never made a move because he thinks _you're_ just after him for _his_ body."

"Oh, what does it matter anyway? He's met someone else now, so now it looks like _I'm_ the one who doesn't have a chance."

Trish sighs and starts gathering their crumpled napkins. "Look, Ally, I'm really sorry, but I was due back from my lunch break an hour ago, so I gotta run. But don't worry about Austin. He'll come around sooner or later."

"Yeah, and maybe he'll cancel on his date and show up at my place tonight with a fancy five-course dinner, a serenade, five crates of pickles, and the entire stock of Daisy's Bouquets. Face it, Trish. I'm gonna die alone with a million cats."

* * *

He's waiting on her couch when she gets home.

Or maybe it's just a hallucination. Maybe her infatuation has gotten to the point where her whole life is just one big delusion.

"Hey, sweetheart! You're finally back! How was your day?" He holds out his arms for a hug.

Yep, definitely hallucinating. In real life, Austin would _never_ greet her like a doting husband when she gets off from work.

She kicks off her heels at the door, plops her purse down on the coffee table, and moves to the kitchen to start gathering random vegetables from her fridge.

Oops. His expression just turned to one of hurt and confusion. Maybe she's not fantasizing after all.

Still, she says nothing. Maybe he'll take a hint and leave her alone to heal for once. Heck, she'll even give him back the key he gave her to his apartment. That'll send a _really_ strong hint that she wants him to let her move on, right?

The vegetables get dumped in the sink. Then she just stares at them like she doesn't know what to do with them.

He's probably still looking at her with confusion and concern written all over his dumb gorgeous face, and she's tempted to ask why he's here anyway. Doesn't he have better things to do—like oh, you know, go out to a nice romantic dinner with someone he actually _likes_—instead of watching his pathetic little fuck buddy stare at zucchini and bell peppers in her kitchen sink?

She doesn't ask, though. She doesn't _want_ to hear him reply that the date went swimmingly but ended early because his new princess needed to hurry home before her car turned into a pumpkin, but—_hey, she said yes, and they're officially dating now, so Austin and Ally's nightly romps are going to have to stop, kthxbai_.

Sure, not knowing sucks, but it has to be better than knowing for certain. Knowing means acknowledging that it's well and truly over and that, let's be honest here, she lost him when she let him go years ago.

And how _can_ she start to separate herself from him? She's known him since before he knew how to tie his shoes, for crying out loud! They've been playmates, rivals, frenemies, frenemies with benefits, boyfriend and girlfriend, ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend, sworn enemies, sworn enemies with benefits, music partners, music partners stuck in some weird nebulous multidimensional limbo somewhere in that impossible-to-cross chasm between "significant others" and "friends with benefits"…

She hears him get up from the couch before his footsteps approach the kitchen. Then a tall shadow falls over her from behind, and she feels him pull her tightly to his chest. Not for the first time, she marvels at how absolutely perfectly she fits against him.

"Are you okay?" His voice is so soft, so full of worry that it takes every ounce of her self-control not to tell him _everything_. There's a _very_ slight pressure against the small of her back, something that's most assuredly _not_ his leg, right where his crotch is, but when she tries to lean back into him, his hips seem to shy away like he doesn't want her to know about it.

Isn't that reason enough to want him as badly as she does? Because he _cares_ about her and puts her wellbeing before his own…needs?

Or is that only because he cares about her as a friend?

Her heart hurts.

"Yeah," she replies. Her voice comes out flat.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

_If only you knew exactly what I want to tell you… Trust me, you're better off not knowing._

"Just…thanks for being here."

His arms tighten. "Always."

_Right, bud. If only you knew what you were actually promising…_

Nevertheless, she can almost physically feel the heaviness in her heart dissipating, the strange tension between them quickly transforming into its much more familiar, more bearable cousin. (And by that, she's referring to the sexual kind, not the kind one reads about in a physics textbook.) There's a pause that she's not sure is comfortable or awkward. Then,

"You're still blocking the light."

"_Please_, sweetheart, how can I possibly block the light? I'm the _moon_."

"Well, then there's a good reason I always preferred clouds."

He just laughs and nuzzles her neck. "You know you don't need to make dinner, right? I picked up a pizza before I came home."

_Home_. Does he mean "came home" to the apartment complex, or "came home"…to her? Is he even aware of the implications he's just made?

Whatever. That _very_ familiar thing that's not his leg is poking into her ass again, no matter how much he tries to hide it, and it gives her _just_ enough courage to say,

"I thought you had a date tonight."

"Eh, it didn't feel right. And I figured you might be lonely without me, so I canceled. I didn't really feel like doing anything tonight anyway."

"Bullshit," she growls, arching her hips against his crotch to prove her point.

Yep, definitely a boner.

His chuckle rumbles against her back, and then he's turning her around and kissing her, his erection now shamelessly rubbing against her stomach. "What can I say? Sex might just be my favorite thing in the world."

Then his eyes darken, and she realizes that she's already fumbling with the fly of his jeans, her fingers acting as if they've taken on a mind of their own.

Her actual mind is probably screaming at her to stop—to remember that this way only lies heartbreak—but then he kisses her again, fingers ghosting along the zipper on her dress, and murmurs, "You'd come in a pretty close second, though," and she knows she's not really thinking with her mind anymore (assuming she ever was).

The dress falls to the floor. So do his pants.

She may be too weak to disentangle herself from _the very source_ of her emotional torment, but why should she kick herself for enjoying the way his tongue traces the outline of her bra as he slowly tugs down her underwear? Or the way his hands knead her flesh as she forces his boxers down equally roughly? Or the fact that (despite her skepticism toward Trish's firmly-held wishful-thinking-esque convictions) at least _part_ of him loves her, and said part of him is currently responding _very_ appreciatively to what her mouth is doing to it while _his_ mouth unleashes profanity after profanity?

Why shouldn't she whimper in anticipation as he abruptly pulls out and hoists her into his arms, making a desperate dash for the bedroom before giving up and detouring to the sofa?

It's not nearly what she wants—but only because she'll _never_ be able to get enough.

And maybe she'll regret it later, but for tonight, she'll let herself imagine that he's on the same page as she is, wishing for the same fairy tale miracles.

For now, she'll take what she can get.

* * *

**Endnote:** Holy crap, this chapter was _long_. I changed my mind. There _will_ be a chapter 2. This ending was kind of vague, hence the title ("No, but seriously, are they actually together or not?"), and came out a lot more depressing than I was intending because I was already well past the 20-page mark and had to cut the story in half. And there were a lot of ideas that didn't make the cut. And before anyone asks, YES, _Austin likes Ally_. As in, like-likes her. I've been dropping hints everywhere I can, but I just can't say it explicitly because everything is from Ally's perspective.

And spoiler alert: the next chapter will be called "The Same Page."

Also, please do review. I just wrote nearly 19k words, and I'm _tired_. Feedback is always appreciated. Let me know what you liked, or what you hated, or what you'd like to see, or—heck—just that you actually made it through this bloated behemoth of a story before dying of old age because, wow, that would be impressive.


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